Chapter Two—Moving into Position #3
Lucas paced the hotel room he’d rented. The beast wanted out. Reading just that first page had sent his blood roiling, stirring the muddy sentiment from six hundred years ago. And the wolf still wanted revenge for the Scottish Inquisition.
Steady. Stay in control. Smith will call.
He’d taken a gamble, handing back that first page without reading the rest. But he needed to establish trust if he was going to succeed.
And, as much as he tried to ignore the fact, he wanted that dark-haired, blue-eyed beauty to trust him.
He had felt her aura brush his and the actual physical contact of taking her hand had sent heat to his groin, but there was something else too. Something he couldn’t quite define.
“Please put this in your strongest safe,” he’d said when he handed the parchment back to Smith. “I can interpret this for you, but you might not believe what I tell you.”
“Is it about the Holy Grail?” Smith asked hesitantly.
“In part.”
“Are you deliberately trying to be mysterious?” Sara asked, “or just trying to scare us into thinking that paper spells Armageddon?”
“There could be some truth to that,” he answered and Sara stared at him, her mouth slightly open in surprise. He tried not think of how soft those parted pink lips were or how much he wanted to slide his tongue between them and taste her. Not now.
He had stood with reluctance and nodded toward Smith.
“When I finish reading that—if you’ll allow it—I want you to know that I’m telling you the truth.
I want you to call those references I gave you and check me out.
You need to know I am who I say I am. If the rest of that document says what I think it does, we are going to be in this search together.
And for what will come, there must be trust.”
There had been a moment when Smith had narrowed his eyes and looked thoughtful. Then he had nodded.
“How can I be in touch?”
And Lucas had given him the number for the hotel, along with his cell. That had been almost forty-eight hours ago. Patience. References take time.
One of the things Lucas had learned to do when he re-invented himself every sixty or seventy years, was to form a complete identity.
In the Dark Ages, no one had really asked.
There were so few literate souls. During Arthur’s time, it had been easy to don armor and fight beside the Briton king.
His respect for Arthur ran deep. That was a man who understood the power of the hallowed Sword.
He slept in Avalon. Perhaps Brighid would send him back to the world one day.
The original nine Templars had accepted Lucas into the Brotherhood without many questions either.
But then, he had pretty much appeared out of nowhere to stand on the Temple steps, his unusually light hair a target for the Saracens.
When he had suggested a place for Godfrey to begin digging and they unearthed the first treasure, they had sensed he was different, perhaps not truly of this world.
But they had embraced him and made him the tenth Templar.
The secret one. And the secret of his immortality was still protected by the inner circle today.
Technology was a fantastic thing. Gavin had managed to create birth certificates, passports and other legal documents as needed.
However, the letters of reference were genuine, for Lucas had carefully cultivated relationships with trustworthy men in established businesses in England and Scotland and France.
His cover was good. All he could do was wait. And try not to think about Sara.
****
“Sara, lovely child. Please come in and sit down and keep an old man like me some company.”
Sara closed the door to Professor MacDonald’s office.
He sat in a wheelchair behind a magnificent cherrywood desk cluttered with a dozen books and papers strewn everywhere.
More books sat in stacks beside him. The professor’s cardigan was mis-buttoned and tufts of white hair stuck out from his head, an indication that he’d been running his fingers through it.
Ink stained those frail fingers now as he put down the pen he’d been holding.
“Your housekeeper let me in,” Sara said as she walked around the desk and hugged the old man. “She was just leaving for the day. Where’s Robert?” She hadn’t seen the manservant when she’d come in.
“Oh, he’ll be along,” the professor said with a smile. “You worry too much about me. Now sit and tell me why you’ve come.”
Sara pulled her chair closer and sat down with a mischievous smile. “I have something I think will make your day.”
His faded blue eyes twinkled. “You’ve already made my day, dear. I never hear from any of my other students.”
Which was a shame, Sara thought as she removed the sheets of paper from her purse. Professor MacDonald had been one of those rare teachers who had infinite patience and took time to personally know who his students were. And his mind was like a huge computer data base of history.
“How would you like to interpret a document written in middle-Gaelic?”
“Aye, it would be givin’ me a fine wee memory of me homeland,” he said with a fake accent.
Sara laughed and tried not to think about the soft rolling brogue that Lucas had spoken with yesterday.
The sound of his rich baritone enveloped her in a cocoon of warmth, just as if she were standing in the embrace of his strong arms, pressed against that hard, broad chest. Warm and safe.
She shook her head. Why was she thinking safe? He was probably anything but safe.
“Sara?”
The old man’s voice jogged her out of her fantasy. She took a deep breath and handed him the papers. “My boss just bought the original. This is a copy that I’d like for you to interpret if you can.”
He took it from her. “I’ll have to refresh my memory and dig through a couple of language books to do this proper credit.
” He adjusted his bifocals and squinted at it.
“It appears to be some sort of letter addressed to a Mr. Sinclair, something about a fate accomplished.” He put the copies down.
“The script will take some deciphering. Could you give me a couple of days? I know how impatient your employer gets.”
“Don’t worry about him. A Scotsman showed up who just happens to read Gaelic.” Even now, his scent of leather and soap haunted her. “He followed me from London.”
The old man reached over and patted her arm. “You must be more careful, dear. Are you sure his intentions are honorable?”
She rather doubted it. Those mesmerizing amber eyes had lingered on her mouth long enough for her breathing to become shallow and she’d had to fight the urge to suddenly lick her lips. But that wasn’t what the professor meant.
“He seems to be. He’s an archeologist and works for Scotland Yard as a consultant. He provided other documentation. Mr. Smith is checking it out.”
“Ah, good.” Professor MacDonald leaned back, looking relieved and then puzzled. “But why do you want me to read this, then?”
“I couldn’t not let you read it. Your love of medieval lore is as great as mine.
” She looked up as the door opened and Robert popped his head inside to acknowledge that he had arrived.
“And for backup,” Sara said as she stood to leave.
“I want to make sure that Lucas—Mr. Ramsey—is telling us the truth.”
“You don’t trust him, child?”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt to know that there wasn’t a mistake in translation. He read the first page and reacted a lot more strongly than you just did. And Mr. Smith is sure that the thing will reveal where the Holy Grail is hidden.”
Professor MacDonald raised a furry eyebrow. “Well. This is indeed a fine gift you’ve brought me, then. Mystery and perhaps a little magic?”
She started at that, wondering if the professor had ever guessed that she was in the Sisterhood. If the translation proved to be as dire as Mr. Ramsey had made it sound, perhaps her group could work some white magic with it.
Lucas. She smiled wanly as she let herself, thinking of Professor MacDonald’s question. Trust? It was herself she didn’t trust. Not around Lucas Ramsey.
****
When she returned to Mr. Smith’s mansion early that evening, Adonis was sitting on the settee in the office. Now why had she thought of Lucas Ramsey as a Greek god?
Nim giggled near her shoulder. “Because he looks like one!”
Sara nearly jumped. Usually she could tell when the faerie was near. This man was addling her brain. No doubt about it and she needed for it to stop. By the Goddess, her knees even felt weak just from being in the same room with him.
“Come in and sit down, Sara!” Mr. Smith was beaming from behind his desk. “I’m delighted to tell you everything checked out with Mr. Ramsey and he’s agreed to help us!”
She could feel those golden eyes studying her even as she looked around for a place to sit that wasn’t on the settee.
One of the overstuffed easy chairs held an assortment of knives and daggers that her boss had meant to categorize before the document had caught his attention.
As shaky as she felt, she wasn’t about to pick up knives that were sharpened on both edges.
The other chair was heaped full of open boxes that contained parts to a new computer system.
Too heavy and messy to move. Reluctantly she took a step toward the couch.
“I won’t bite. I promise.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled and made him look even sexier. His gaze traveled to her bare throat and she could almost hear the unspoken words: “Unless you want me to…”